


Between the Lines

by iwaseliteonce



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 14:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12459831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaseliteonce/pseuds/iwaseliteonce
Summary: Waverly Earp is finally a well-known author. She regularly tours North America (and Europe, once) discussing her latest novel with a smile and wave. There's one topic she avoids at all costs though- love.(Series converted to one shot)





	Between the Lines

_ All my life, I've dreamed of glass.  _

 

_ Glass fills my mind, my dreams, and occasionally, my reality.  _

 

_ On Thursday, the glass in my head became real. Frosted for effect, it reveals the slightly distorted outline of the figure standing behind it. There is instant uncertainty. No one ever comes here. It's not a trip many make, especially not for anything serious. Even less likely for anything entertaining or amusing. I shrug my jacket covered shoulder to myself, and stand wobbily. A heavy wooden door is cracked open, a smile pulled across white teeth. Surprise. A stupid greeting, a stumbled entrance. A question of where this dance of discomfort begins.  _

 

Waverly sits back from her laptop, staring at the written words. Her brow furrows, mind moving into correction mode as she reviews and internally criticizes. It’s… fine. Good enough for the small computer screen, but not for publication. Back to the drawing board, it seems. 

 

She sighs, letting her eyes wander around the small coffee shop. She’s been here a thousand times, and written more words here than she could ever calculate. The baristas always stand excitedly behind the counter for her order, hoping to discover what warm beverage will best suit the mood of the story she plans to tell. To them, she’s a celebrity. A simple drink order is considered a hint. She’s seen the order posted on Twitter and Reddit, followed by threads of text breaking down its meaning in context of a future novel or short story.

 

Waverly Earp is a well-known, published author. She occasionally tours North America (and Europe once), discussing her latest novel with a bright grin and soft eyes. The brunette is adored by lovers of fiction, who often place hand-written letters or poems in her hands while she smiles and signs her name in their book. They flood her publisher and a convenient post office box with letter, manuscripts, art and gifts as a means to show their adoration from a distance. It’s really more than she ever expected. 

 

Waverly only avoids one subject- Love. Rumor has it she has a tendency to break proverbial hearts by being quiet and noncommittal toward discussing her love life. She just doesn’t want the world to know every element of her life. Plus, there’s no one to gush about animatedly. The writer has been single for… long enough, and that fact does not appear to be changing any time soon. Perhaps, one day, she’ll have someone by her side worth her words and grin. 

 

——————

 

Hands slip knowingly into jacket pockets as she walks. The world outside is starting to smell like autumn. Leaves are shifting from vibrant green to an array of oranges, yellows, reds and browns. The wind kicks and slides, hangs and moves, feeling ever-present and somehow just enough. The air is lighter somehow with the weight of summer heat dissipating a little more each afternoon. The world feels different, and very much the same. 

 

Waverly walks, laptop bag slung around her body protectively. She needs to see the world around her a little more clearly, before she can write it. She needs to understand the breeze, and feel the occasional wayward drop of rain on her face. She needs to listen to the trees sway and sing, and eventually, even know the stars by name. She has so much to learn. 

 

Her foot grazes a recent rain-slicked rock, suddenly shifting her off-balance. She prepares herself for a hard fall onto concrete, secretly sending a prayer that her laptop survives yet another fall. Being clumsy is a real problem for her electronics. 

 

The impact with the ground never comes. Hands appear, one slipping strongly around her waist, while the other curls around and behind her shoulder to cradle her head. She’s suddenly steadied, gentle movements setting her back on her feet as if they’ve done it a hundred times. She feels her breath return when she’s stable. She’s safe. 

 

She looks up, eyes meeting deep, concerned brown ones. The hands are still there, warm and shifted to hold her upright as they press into the middle of her back. She can feel the warmth from the hands, see the concern and caring. She feels… safe. 

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good now. Thank you.”

“Of course. To be fair, I slipped on the same rock. Caught myself before skull met pavement.”

“Glad I’m not the only one. We should find a slippery when wet sign, or make one out of paper or something.”

 

The eyes warm even more, and Waverly’s whole world softens with them. 

 

“I’ll get right on that, ma’am. Um, while I have you here, I should at least- I’m Nicole, Nicole Haught.”

“Oh, right. I’m, um, Waverly Earp.”

“Well, Waverly, I hope you’re okay now. Can you stand on your own?”

 

Waverly realizes the hands are still there, that the eyes are still close and checking. She sees the sweet smile at her own eye level change and add pronounced dimples at the end. Waverly breathes, and gulps. 

 

“I’m, um- yeah, I should be good.”

“I’m glad. You wanna sit for a minute, check your stuff?”

“Actually, yes. I think my coffee is the only casualty.”

“Well, actually, I, um, sort of saved some of it?”

 

Eyes drop and widen. There’s a wet, brown stain splashed across white fabric. The woman’s shirt is drenched, making the material transparent. 

 

“Shit, I-“

“Hey, no big deal. Having your brain intact is a little more important that a clean shirt. Sit, Waverly. Breathe for a second.”

 

She listens, sitting gently on the bench. She tests her limbs, checks her bag- everything is intact. Her eyes drift back to the grinning woman in front of her, sliding across the coffee-stained shirt before catching the glint of metal. A cop? 

 

“You’re a…”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m a detective. Which is good news for you. Means I keep spare shirts in my locker. I can be kind of clumsy sometimes. Never hurts to have extras. I’ll change when I get to the station.”

“Can I at least pay for the dry cleaning, or-“

“For a t-shirt? Absolutely not. Knowing your brain isn’t scrambled is enough for me. Wait, it isn’t scrambled, right?”

“No! No, I’m good. You kept me upright. Thank you.”

“Course. Well, Waverly, I hate to ruin this helluva first meeting, but I should get to work. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m… I’m great.”

“Good,” Nicole grins again, hand sliding into her back right pocket. She opens her small leather wallet, looking, then pulling a thin card from inside. Waverlys eyes meet hers when he card is placed in her hand. “I hope we’ll meet again soon, Waverly. Under different circumstances, better ones. Watch for those slick stones, yeah?”

 

Nicole’s smile never fades. Waverly can still see it, long after the redhead walked away. She focuses on the card once the brilliance of the playful grin fades, reading the front.

 

_ Detective Nicole Haught _

 

She flips the card over, and finds a phone number scrawled across the back. 

 

Waverly laughs, and grins. She grins, knowing her upturned lips would match the easy grin now burned into her memory. She slips the card into her bag, moving to stand and walk back to the coffee shop. 

 

She finally found something worthy of writing. 


End file.
